


Middle

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock dares to fly down the mountain.





	Middle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nattybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattybird/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for natty-bird’s “Angels/Demons Spock/Kirk” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Spock waits until the dead of night to leave his father’s halls, slipping past the pillars with light-as-feather footsteps. He’s careful as he creeps down the winding road beyond, through the sleeping city, away from the ever-lit lights and wide-open spaces where the stars shine over everything. It still seems strange to him that everyone should go to sleep at once. The adults don’t have curfew, and yet they all seem to work in perfect order, always adhering to the same strict schedule. He keeps expecting to be caught. He isn’t.

He makes it far beyond the outskirts of the city, and only once he’s strayed outside his valley does he truly dare to _fly_ , knowing the many peaks and spires of the mountain’s walls will hide him. He soars quickly along the surface, winding over each hump and cliff, diving steadily lower. He scales more than half the mammoth rise in record time. It’s so very _easy_ to leave the cover of the clouds—he doesn’t understand why they haven’t done it all before.

He doesn’t understand why they don’t _want_ to. Its seem so absurd for them to discourage this exploration, and yet, they might as well have forbidden it—they looked at him like he’d lost his mind when he suggested a simple survey down amongst the roots of their home. His father had quickly dismissed him. He’d been lectured, repeatedly and at some length, on accepting the logic of their world. But Spock doesn’t see any logic in ignorance—surely the pursuit of knowledge is a noble one. He only wants to _know_ what populates the world below. He wants to _see_ it, feel it, breathe it in and learn how it works. His curiosity’s become resolve, and his wings beat through the cold air as he descends one rocky shelf at a time. 

Perhaps three-quarters down, something catches in his peripherals, and Spock stops, body righting itself as his wings switch angles. Something’s moving up the mountain, different than the goats and birds occasionally visible from the valley’s edge. Spock’s stomach clenches at the reality of the vision: he _knew_ there were things beyond his imagination outside the valley, but actually _seeing_ something so new is disorienting. With a sharp intake of breath, Spock alters his course. 

It isn’t long before the creature spots him, and when it does so, Spock’s flight is slowed—a pair of brilliant blue eyes pierce into him, so much more vibrant than any blue that Spock’s ever seen. The creature looks _almost_ like an angel, yet so very wrong: it has no wings. It’s dressed in tight black clothes instead of the flowing white robes that Spock’s used to, its hair is a honey sort of yellow-brown, and it has two small, dulled horns protruding through its hair, right at the very top of its skull. But the most stunning thing is its beauty, almost sinful in its elegance—hard lines and ripe curves, flushed cheeks and plush lips, a sort of bold handsomeness that makes Spock’s heart beat a little faster. It’s resting on a thin shelf, braced against the rock-face as though about to climb it by both feet and hands. But it’s stopped now, waiting as Spock reaches it.

Spock steps lightly down on the ledge, drinking in the tantalizing view. It’s a male, he thinks, perhaps the same age as him, judging by the markers of the only culture that Spock knows. At Spock’s landing, the creature, or man, steps away from the wall, offering Spock a warm, dazzling grin that makes his skin prickle. It tells him in a rich voice, “Hello.”

The language is wrong, scratchy and difficult, but Spock understands it, as any angel would any language. Too surprised for simple niceties, he skips right to, “What are you?”

The man laughs, like that’s funny, then answers, “A demon, I suppose, but you can call me Jim.” He reaches one hand forward, which Spock doesn’t understand. He looks at it for a long moment, then tentatively lifts his own hand into the embrace, guessing at what he’s supposed to do. Evidently, he got it right—the man smiles wider and grips him tight, shaking him once, then lets go, though the touch lingers in Spock’s mind and body on a deeper level—their beings are compatible. He can feel it. He _felt_ Jim during that moment, even though it seems Jim has no form of touch-telepathy in return. Jim asks, “And you?”

“I am an angel,” Spock says, still transfixed.

“But _who_ are you?”

A second’s hesitation, and he answers, “Spock.” Perhaps that might come back to haunt him, should his father ever hear that he was out here, but lying is frowned upon. Jim mouths the name once. Spock presses, “What are you doing here?”

“Climbing the mountain, obviously,” Jim says, gesturing upwards. “I want to know what’s up there. I’d heard of angels, but never really believed they were _all_ myth. Not until I looked for myself, anyway.”

Spock’s chest flutters—it sounds exactly the same as his own motivation. He doesn’t have to say that; Jim notes his direction and asks, “Why’re you coming down? I figured it’d be paradise up there.”

In many ways, it is. Spock’s heard all the vague stories of discord below, of how they alone know peace and harmony, but there never seemed to be enough data to backup that claim. Not wanting to give too many details on his home, Spock answers simply, “To explore.”

Jim nods like he completely understands, and maybe he does, more so than anyone inside Spock’s city. Jim had to feel an immense drive to climb as far as he has without any wings, and it makes Spock wonder aloud, “How do you expect to make it all the way up with only your arms and legs?”

“Maybe I was hoping for a cute angel to come give me a lift,” Jim answers. He even winks, which makes Spock’s cheeks heat—he feels like he’s blushing hot enough to bring shame to his entire clan. But there’s something _about_ Jim that’s already getting to him, winding tight around him and drawing him in. At Spock’s silence, Jim laughs—something hearty and pleasant, utterly entrancing. Spock can’t help but wonder how furious his father would be if he flew Jim up the mountain and introduced him to all the angels.

That’s not an option, of course. His people aren’t ready for it. He tries to ground himself in more likely possibilities and asks, changing the subject, “Which way would you recommend I go once I’ve reached the base?”

Jim turns and points down into the forest, only a sea of dark green at this point, occasionally broken up by lighter patches of meadow and the blue stretch of a river. “There,” he says, dropping his hand and looking back at Spock, blues eyes all alight. “That’s where my tribe is. I think I might go back down with you, if you don’t mind, and then you can explore _me_ first.”

Spock’s simultaneously appalled and fascinated. His sense of priority feels scandalized by the mere suggestion—he’s sure, given the smirk on Jim’s pink lips, that it’s some sort of lewd innuendo. But he’s never felt so intrigued by anyone in his entire life, and he knows that if he leaves now, this encounter will only haunt his dreams.

After a long moment of silent meditation, Spock slowly offers, “I would be grateful for your escort... and perhaps I might fly you higher at some point to offer compensation.”

“I’d like that,” Jim says. Then he holds out his hand again.

This time when Spock takes it, Jim doesn’t let go.


End file.
